


Together Forever

by sanguisuga



Series: Sang's Holiday Offerings [3]
Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Being Stupidly in Love, M/M, Mystrade Valentines Calendar 2018, Rimming, Romance, Teasing, These boys are insatiable, but then it gets cute again, chp 1 is cute and fluffy, chp 2 is cute until it's utterly filthy, fluff fluff fluff, mystrade, sensual massage, seriously they're disgusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 12:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13811670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: Greg takes Mycroft to the pub, and the evening takes a not quite unexpected turn...





	1. Karaoke Night

“Any plans for the evening?”

Mycroft eased back in his office chair, his forefinger tapping gently against the mobile cradled to his ear. He frowned down at his laptop, unsure how to answer, as he knew for a fact that Greg had asked Anthea to ensure that this particular night remained clear on his calendar. He took in a cautious breath, wondering just how this game should be played. Although during the course of their relationship, he had found that feigning ignorance had been a fairly safe tactic thus far, and so... "No, by happy chance, I seem to be free.”

“Brilliant! I thought maybe we could head down to the local. Just a nice, relaxed casual night together. Whaddya say?”

Was that a slight tremor he was hearing in Greg’s voice? Nervous. But why? He was clearly planning something, but Mycroft knew better than to try and interrogate him about it. If he tipped his hand, whatever his lover was planning would be postponed until Greg believed that Mycroft had forgotten all about it - as if he could.

Greg liked to spring his little surprises, and in truth, Mycroft liked to be surprised - on occasion. He trusted that Greg understood him well enough not to plan anything that would upset him unduly; and if he found himself subconsciously deducing, he would strive to shunt any gathered data to a dark corner of his mind. Perhaps he might analyse it in the aftermath of the grand reveal in order to recognise more of his lover’s upcoming tells, but it was much more likely that he would seek to delete it altogether so that any future surprises could remain so.

But of course it was extremely difficult for him to shut down his inherent curiosity, and considering the date on the calendar as well as Greg’s endearingly romantic nature... Mycroft swallowed down the warble in his own throat before responding. “That sounds delightful, my love. I should be home within the hour.”

**********

Mycroft paused in the foyer of his townhouse after shedding his overcoat, his mouth momentarily gone dry at the sight of his lover standing at the kitchen sink, guzzling down a large glass of water. Of course he was wearing those charcoal grey wool trousers that cradled his bum just so, as well as the burgundy cashmere jumper that emphasised the broadness of his shoulders and complemented his complexion so well.

Greg turned as Mycroft attempted to cover up his soft moan by circumspectly clearing his throat. His cheeks bloomed with colour as Mycroft gestured at him vaguely. “Casual, was it?”

Greg shrugged as he ran his hands down his torso, striding forward. He hummed low as he pressed a chaste kiss to Mycroft’s lips, reaching up to cradle the back of his head as he leant further in. Nuzzling their cheeks together, Greg sighed breathily in Mycroft’s ear. He grinned as his lover trembled against him and slipped an arm around his waist, pushing into his touch. “We can call it _dressy_ casual, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Hm.” Mycroft’s brain momentarily went blank as he inhaled the scent of Greg’s clean skin, enhanced by a hint of spicy aftershave - the expensive one that he only used on special occasions. He closed his eyes as Greg rubbed his smooth cheek against his, knowing how much he enjoyed the sensation after a fresh shave. There would be a fine dusting of silver stubble on that firm jawline by the evening’s end, and Mycroft shivered in anticipation of the gentle burn that it would engender on his lips and throat, trailing down his belly and oh -  between his thighs. He tightened his grip as he leant a bit more of his weight against Greg’s body, the indistinct images in his hindbrain making his belly flutter with a pleasant warmth.

Greg pulled away just as Mycroft felt something small and uncomfortably hard poke him in the hip. He twisted free from Mycroft’s arm and slid up behind him, unceremoniously pushing him in the direction of the stairs. “No distractions, now.” Greg sent him on his way with a saucy little pat on the bum. “Go get ready, love.”

Mycroft obeyed, his head spinning. About halfway up he paused and looked back as obliquely as he could, catching Greg fussing with his leather jacket hanging up by the door. Whatever had been in his trouser pocket was clearly being tucked away elsewhere, perhaps for safekeeping. Mycroft shook his head, wrenching his brain away from that extremely intriguing path, focusing instead on the task of preparing himself for whatever lay ahead.

After a brief shower, Mycroft took care to dress down, or about as close as to casual as he ever managed to achieve. Not that Greg had ever objected to any of his sartorial choices, but he was content enough to meet in the middle, as it were. He knew that he had made the right choice with the casual if still neatly pressed dark navy slacks and slim-fitting sea-green shirt when he caught sight of Greg’s face as he looked up the stairs at him. Mycroft reached for the handrail as he swayed minutely, the heat and pride glowing in Greg’s eyes making him a little weak in the knees. Was there something more in his gaze - some strange sense of resolve?

_‘Has he always looked at me like that?’_

Mycroft meekly handed over his finely-waled corduroy sport jacket as Greg reached for it, allowing him to pull it up his arms and over his shoulders. He fussed with his shirt cuffs unnecessarily as Greg brushed him down perfunctorily, feeling rather bashful for no reason that he could easily ascertain.

Greg reached up to tweak Mycroft’s chin before reaching for his leather jacket. He frowned slightly after shrugging it on, tugging at the lapels of Mycroft’s jacket. “Will you be warm enough?”

Mycroft smiled as he looked up, feeling a wave of heat rocket through his body as he met Greg’s eyes. “I think I’ll be fine. The walk will suffice in keeping my temperature elevated.” He bit his lip. “And if not, I always have you.”

Greg let out a soft snort, the laughter twinkling in his dark eyes before they sobered slightly. “That you do, sweetheart.” He ran his hands over his jacket, patting down the pockets, paying special attention to the top inner pocket in particular.

Mycroft once again tried to shut down his calculating mind as he took Greg’s proffered arm, walking with him out of the house and down the street in the direction of their preferred local.

**********

Mycroft felt his eyebrows contract as they walked into the pub, almost immediately ducking down low to avoid getting tangled up in a bit of festive garland strewn above the door. Greg sputtered quietly next to him as they stood and surveyed the normally homey atmosphere, now overly festooned with garish splashes of red and pink. They looked at each other in vague astonishment before shrugging their shoulders almost as one.

Greg tilted his chin toward their favourite booth, thankfully empty. “Guess we should have expected it, what with the display they put on for Christmas and all.”

Mycroft followed Greg into the pub, slightly abashed to be seen holding his hand even though the patrons were all near-strangers to them. This sort of thing wasn’t really his preferred way to spend an evening, but just as Greg occasionally stepped out of his comfort zone in order to accompany him to his various diplomatic functions, Mycroft was willing to dip a toe into his partner’s world when requested, despite his slight discomfort. And really, it wasn’t so bad. Although it was a more boisterous atmosphere than he was used to, he was still spending time with Greg.

Mycroft hummed to himself as he slid into the booth, making a show of settling in to give Greg the distraction he needed to transfer a small item from pocket to pocket as he hung his jacket up on a nearby hook. Then he tilted his head to watch as Greg wove through the surprisingly hefty crowd to the bar, fetching their first round of the night. _‘Those bloody trousers are practically indecent, for God’s sake.’_

Mycroft allowed his mind to wander a bit even as he took note of every single head that swivelled to follow Greg’s path, feeling terribly smug and somehow oddly exposed simply by being in his company. Everywhere he went, the man just drew attention, even if he himself was almost ridiculously unaware of it. No matter how the women might flirt and preen, no matter how the men might openly leer, Greg simply seemed to take no note of any of them. He might grace some with an affable smile and others with a friendly nod, but he only had eyes for his chosen partner.

Mycroft glanced around at the overabundance of holiday decorations plastered over nearly every surface in the pub, still a bit surprised at Greg’s choice of venue for the occasion. He had taken to understand that this particular day was usually considered special - at least where one’s significant other was concerned. Not that he was overly familiar with such customs, seeing as how all of his previous relationships had barely lasted beyond the honeymoon phase, and most of them had been when he was a great deal younger. Mycroft couldn’t immediately recall if any of his short-lived dalliances had occurred at this time of year. Either way, he had never celebrated what he had always seen as a commercially created excuse for a holiday. But then, he hadn’t ever wanted to celebrate - at least, not before Greg.

At this time the previous year, Mycroft had been involved in some rather delicate negotiations in China, and so the celebrations had taken the form of an early morning Skype session. The conversation had been halting and a little bit awkward, but that was easily attributable to the fact that it was three in the morning in London and on a weekday besides. Mycroft was fairly sure that Greg’s head hadn’t even hit the pillow before midnight, but since he had insisted on the call, it had dutifully been made. Mycroft had learned very early on that when Greg said, “I mean it,” in that particular tone, that there would be _consequences_ if his edict was not obeyed. Greg’s ‘I’m very disappointed in you’ stare easily outstripped his mother’s by kilometres, and just the thought of it was enough to curdle Mycroft’s stomach.

And so, even though it was very early days for their budding relationship, and even though Mycroft felt more than a bit guilty for interrupting Greg’s well-deserved rest, he had put the call through. He hadn’t even realised how much he needed it himself until he had heard that softly-spoken, “Hey you.” Looking at Greg’s kindly careworn face, at those sleepy brown eyes and pillow-rumpled silver hair, Mycroft had felt an instant calm come over him, such a feeling of peace that he had almost felt as though he was in that bed next to him. It was then that he realised how much Greg had come to mean to him in such a short time, that he had become as vital to him as breathing.

They had talked about nothing more important than the inanities of their respective days, quietly laughing together, the distance between them nothing more than two lovers sharing one pillow and talking late into the night. The date on the calendar hadn’t been discussed, and no declarations had been made - not that night. It wasn’t long after Mycroft returned to London that he screwed up the courage to utter those three tiny and yet utterly bewildering words, his knees shaking so that Greg had to hold him up as he returned the sentiment, whispering hoarsely in his ear, their joyful tears mingling on their cheeks.

Greg had been the first to show an interest in him as an actual human being in a very long  time - easily a decade or more. And he absolutely was the only one who had doggedly pursued Mycroft after the initial shine and novelty had worn off, holding him steady through all of his doubts and fears, reassuring him that he was in it for the long haul. Not that fifteen months was really all that long considering the number of decades that they each had under their belts, but still.

Conversations had cautiously been broached over the possibility of cohabiting, but Mycroft was reluctant at best, and even he had no clear idea why. Greg had practically taken up residence at Mycroft’s townhouse already, but making it official was an entirely different matter for some reason entirely unknown to him. Greg hadn’t pushed for a decision either way. In fact, he often asked if Mycroft would prefer some time to himself, but the truth was that he enjoyed every single moment they spent together. Mycroft had never felt as content as he did while sitting cuddled up with Greg on the sofa in his sitting room - whether they were watching ridiculous crap telly, or even just dozing lightly in front of the fire like a couple of doddering old fools. Mycroft had quickly realised that his house didn’t feel like home unless Greg was there with him.

Mycroft looked up as Greg returned to the booth, a glass of scotch in each hand. He felt the splash of warmth in his belly before even taking a sip, resolving that next time the subject came up, it would be to make it happen. There was no point in dithering about any longer - he didn’t just want Greg in his life, in his home - he _needed_ him there. He felt his shoulders drop in relief as Greg slid into the booth with him, reaching out under the cover of the table to tangle their fingers together.

Greg squeezed his hand gently, turning to give him a wink as he clinked their glasses together. Mycroft leant back into the softly worn leather of the bench seat, letting the buzz of the patrons’ conversations fade into the background. He grinned as his partner cleared his throat faintly and gestured discreetly in the direction of a cluster of middle-aged ladies dressed for a night out on the town.

Mycroft stuck his tongue firmly in his cheek as he started to deduce, canting his voice low so it wouldn’t carry and perhaps start a riot.

**********

By the third round of drinks, Mycroft’s deductions had turned utterly filthy, and he was struggling to keep his voice low and descriptions genteel. Greg was quaking with barely-repressed laughter, pressing his mouth into his own arm to muffle his guffaws.

“And that one?” Greg’s voice was soft as he nodded toward the far end of the bar where a grizzled old man stood, nursing the dregs of his pint.

Mycroft blinked rapidly, reading the heartbreak and desperate loneliness all too readily in the starkly pinched lines of his face, in the hunched posture of his shoulders. He sidled just a bit closer to his lover, shivering as he realised that if they hadn’t found each other, if they hadn’t had the courage to take a chance on one another, that man might be either of them.

He glanced aside to Greg’s face, his odd sense of dread fading as he felt his presence as a soothing balm. His eyes were dark, nearly bottomless, and Mycroft knew that Greg could read the man just as easily as he could. After all, he was quite the student of human nature in his own right. “That one...” Mycroft knocked back the last of his scotch. “Needs another drink. As do I, apparently.”

He stifled a belch against the back of his hand as Greg briefly knocked their shoulders together on his way out of the booth. He smiled crookedly as Greg passed an additional couple of notes across to the barman, nodding in the direction of the lonely old man. When he returned with their last drinks of the night, Mycroft gave in to the impulse to brush his lips over Greg’s cheek, humming low at the faintest hint of bristle already sprouting there. He caught the old man’s eye as he shifted back, nodding as he raised his fresh pint to them in thanks.

Greg slid an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in tight, and Mycroft felt almost as though he’d melt into a puddle right there. Blinking hazily, he frowned as he watched an increase of activity around the small stage in the corner. They were setting up sound equipment, testing a microphone, carrying out a small machine, a television monitor.

_‘Oh sweet Lord, no.’_

He was prepared to give his lover the benefit of doubt, but when that first broken note rang out over the crowd, Mycroft froze solid, all of the muscles in his body tensing in a subconscious fight-or-flight reaction. He nearly bolted, but Greg simply tightened his grip, squeezing at him gently. “Please, love? I want to do one.” His dark eyes were somehow merry and yet sombre at the same time, and Mycroft nodded somewhat reluctantly. What else could he do? It was rather obvious that this was a vital part of Greg's plans for the evening, and Mycroft would happily sever one of his own fingers before overtly ruining his lover's fun.

He bit his lip as Greg signed himself up to sing God only knew what, wincing as the individual first at the microphone failed horribly at impersonating Elvis Presley. He relaxed minutely as his lover came back to him, his strong hands grasping at his shoulders, easily massaging the tension out of them. Mycroft shivered as Greg bent down to his ear, murmuring low. “Only this and another to go.”

Despite the assault on his sensitive ears, Mycroft began to feel an odd excitement building in his chest, most likely feeding off of Greg’s energy as well as the scotch swirling in his belly. His dark eyes were darting all about the room, no doubt reading the crowd and trying to determine whether his offering would please the masses. Mycroft’s lips curled up into a warm smile without him quite realising it. Although he’d mostly heard Greg singing only snatches here and there, either in the shower or in the car, his deliciously gravelly voice translated very well into song.

Mycroft blinked slowly as Greg’s eyes met his and flickered away nervously. Well now. That was - interesting, to say the least. _‘No, stop. Get out of your head - let him have his fun, for God’s sake!’_

“And just what are you going to perform for us?”

A bright grin lit up Greg’s features and he blushed rather fetchingly. “You’ll see.”

Mycroft sighed as a somewhat timid voice began to warble its way through “The Rose”. The young woman gained confidence with each stanza and she finished strong, turning an alarming shade of red as the audience hooted and hollered in praise. Greg applauded her ferociously before scooting out of the booth, taking a moment to wipe his apparently sweaty hands on his trousers.

Frowning slightly, Mycroft slid his bum across a bit, settling into the toasty spot left behind by his lover to gain a better vantage point. He propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his interlaced fingers as a synthesised beat pulsed through the crowded space. Mycroft snorted softly as Greg started to swing his hips in time to the upbeat rhythm, something reminiscent of a late eighties pop song. He found himself a little surprised at Greg’s choice, as the music he usually favoured tended to be a bit more - aggressive.

He fought the urge to bury his face in his hands as Greg made eye contact with him, holding him pinned to his seat as he started to sing.

_If there's anything you need_  
_All you have to do is say_  
_You know you satisfy everything in me_  
_We shouldn't waste a single day_

_So don't stop me falling_  
_It's destiny calling_  
_A power I just can't deny_  
_It's never changing_  
_Can't you hear me, I'm saying_  
_I want you for the rest of my life_

_Together forever and never to part_  
_Together forever we two_  
_And don't you know_  
_I would move heaven and earth_  
_To be together forever with you_

_If they ever get you down_  
_There's always something I can do_  
_Because I wouldn't ever want to see you frown_  
_I'll always do what's best for you_

_There ain't no mistaking_  
_It's true love we're making_  
_Something to last for all time_  
_It's never changing_  
_Can't you hear me, I'm saying_  
_I want you for the rest of my life_

_Together forever and never to part_  
_Together forever we two_  
_And don't you know_  
_I would move heaven and earth_  
_To be together forever with you_

Greg’s gaze never wavered, no matter how Mycroft tried to divert his lover, ignoring the blatant stares he was receiving from the other patrons. Some were frankly curious, but quite a few more were openly envious. Mycroft knew that his face was quite red, as he almost felt light-headed with the lack of blood to his brain. And although part of him absolutely wanted to flee in embarrassment, there was a greater part of him that was singing right along with Greg, positively exhilarated to be the object of his singularly boundless affection.

_So don't stop me falling_  
_It's destiny calling_  
_A power I just can't deny_  
_It's never changing_  
_Can't you hear me, I'm saying_  
_I want you for the rest of my life_

_Together forever and never to part_  
_Together forever we two_  
_And don't you know_  
_I would move heaven and earth_  
_To be together forever with you_

This man, this ridiculous, beautiful man, had chosen him, and furthermore, was not at all shy about alerting anybody within a reasonable distance about that fact. He wasn’t ever crude about it, knowing that deliberately public displays of affection made Mycroft exceedingly uncomfortable. It might manifest as another half-step closer in the queue at the cinema, holding the door or a chair for him, perhaps just a gentle hand on his elbow to help guide him. And although the gestures could sometimes be seen as possessive, Mycroft knew that wasn’t Greg’s intention. He was simply chivalrous and quite the romantic, even if his behaviour was mostly subconscious.

Mycroft briefly scrubbed his hands over his cheeks as the song came to an end, the last refrain echoing in his brain. _To be together forever with you..._ His breath stuttered in his lungs as he suddenly realised just how much he wanted that - he really, _really_ did. Not that the thought hadn’t occurred to him many times over in the past few months, but that vague understanding had now coalesced into an absolute certainty, something deeply elemental in his bones.

**********

Greg was grinning broadly as he got back to the booth, slightly out of breath and pleasantly pink about the cheeks as he acknowledged the patrons’ accolades with friendly nods. His dark eyes twinkled as he looked at Mycroft, slipping his left hand into his pocket, his fingers curling into a protective fist around the small object already nestled there. Mycroft blinked rapidly as he once again took note of the nervousness still present in his partner’s demeanour along with that all too easily-read sign.

_‘Oh, holy shit.’_ The next thought that flitted through his mind was, _‘Not here, Greg, please - not here!’_

Greg retrieved his jacket from the nearby hook and slipped it on before holding out his hand. “Let’s get some air, yeah?”

Mycroft clenched his fingers tight to stop them from trembling before reaching out to his lover, letting him tug him to his feet and following him as he wove through the crowd. His heart was beating so loudly in his ears that he couldn’t even hear the drunken quartet at the microphone massacring “Yellow Submarine”. Small mercy, really.

Greg wove their fingers together as they stepped out onto the pavement, looking up at the night sky. Not that many stars were visible, of course. Not with the light from the city rising up all around them, and the dregs of the clouds that had been hovering all afternoon. Mycroft looked down at his feet as his knees shook, silently imploring them to at least serve their purpose in keeping him held upright.

“I meant it, you know.”

“Hm?” Mycroft lifted his gaze and once again found himself pinned in place. “T-the song, you mean?”

Greg breathed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Together forever.” Visibly swallowing down his nerves, he took his left hand from his pocket and held out the small black velvet box. “With you.”

Mycroft’s eyes zeroed in on the box as he froze to the spot, barely able to comprehend even though he had seen it coming,

Greg frowned slightly as he ducked his head to meet Mycroft’s gaze. “Sweetheart?” A somewhat crooked grin wobbled over his lips as he took note of Mycroft’s immobility. “Should I get down on my knees? Or maybe sing it again, out here where everyone will hear?”

_“Gregory...”_

Greg cleared his throat as Mycroft reached out to trace his fingertips over the black velvet almost reverently. “I know it’s silly, but I wanted to make a grand gesture, wanted everybody to know how I felt. But I know you, love, and I know that you wouldn’t appreciate - this - in front of a bunch of people. And honestly, I didn’t want to share _this_ particularly special moment with anyone else either. So, y’know, I thought a bit of both and really, I was going to wait until we got back home for this part, but you looked so gorgeous sitting there with your cheeks all pink and I knew that I just had to go for it, but not in there, of course. Don’t want you to feel pressured, I only want honesty, not that I think you would really-”

Mycroft removed the hand that he had closed over Greg’s mouth and replaced it with his lips, pressing a soft and almost chaste kiss on him. He could feel how both of their bodies were shaking minutely, and he took in a deep breath to calm himself. “Ask me, then.”

With his dark eyes twinkling in nervous delight, Greg flipped the box open and gently extracted the ring within, holding it out to him. “Mycroft Holmes, would you do me the honour of becoming my husband?”

Mycroft’s heartbeat thumped in his ears, nearly obliterating the sweetly rough cadence of his lover’s words, but of course he knew what he was asking, had known it was coming all night and yet he _still_ wasn’t prepared how could he not be prepared, having dreamt of this very thing for months, having contemplated being the one to ‘pop the question’ as it were, but knowing about Greg’s previous marriage woes and thinking that perhaps he wouldn’t want to, that he would be happy just to be with Mycroft but no - no, he trusted him not to hurt him, here he was standing outside a boisterous pub on a chilly February night, willingly handing him his heart and oh God, did Mycroft want to take it, to cradle it and cherish it and protect it with all that he had in him.

When Mycroft’s vision had cleared, he looked beyond the shining silver band held delicately in Greg’s fingertips, and said the only thing he could. “It would be entirely _my_ honour to be your husband, Greg Lestrade.” He presented his left hand to his lover, completely unashamed as his fingers trembled slightly. Greg held him steady, sliding the brushed platinum band onto his third finger, gently twisting it into place.  

Mycroft blinked at it for a moment in mute disbelief, but suddenly felt as though every single cell in his body lit up with effervescence, his blood fizzing in his veins. Greg let out an exaggerated _‘oomph’_ as Mycroft launched himself at him, eagerly snaking his arms around his neck and snogging him like a man possessed. Greg giggled against his lips, actually _giggled_ like a young boy, his knees nearly buckling under Mycroft’s weight. They wound up pressed against the brick wall, plastered together as one, completely oblivious to their surroundings.

Until a resounding, thunderous cheer broke out from the pub, of course. Mycroft groaned in sheer mortification, ducking down and hiding his face in his now-fiancé’s neck. He didn’t need to look to know that there were eager faces pressed to every window, that the strangers they had spent the evening with had watched the entire proposal and apparently approved wholeheartedly. Greg shook with giddy laughter, clutching Mycroft tight.

They both jumped as the door swung open wide. The barman gestured at them with a bottle of champagne, a cheery smile on his broad face. “Come back in and celebrate, lads. On the house!”

Greg gave Mycroft a reassuring squeeze as he stiffened in his hold. “Appreciate it, but this one’s a bit shy. And we’ve got a bit of a private party planned besides.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes at Greg’s clumsy innuendo as the barman let loose with a deep rolling laugh, something that put him in mind of a jolly old elf. Mycroft cast a sly glance sideways, not at all surprised to see him clutching at his stomach as he guffawed, watching it jiggle rather like a bowl full of jelly. He nodded genially to the both of them and withdrew, calling the attentions of those at the windows away to give them a bit of privacy.

Greg sighed as he leant back against the wall, his eyes just a little forlorn as he reached up to cradle Mycroft’s cheek. “I’m sorry if...” His voice trailed away as he gestured vaguely toward the pub. “I mean, I didn’t want to draw attention - this wasn’t exactly how I planned it. I just wanted to sing a silly song, not put the spotlight on you. Not that you don’t look positively gorgeous when you’re a trifle embarrassed, all pink cheeks and bashful eyes and Christ what you do to me...”

“Greg, please do shut up.” Mycroft placed his left hand on Greg’s chest, sliding it over until he could feel his heart beating under his fingers. “However you would have presented this beautiful gift to me, my answer would not have been any different. In any probable scenario, the outcome would remain the same, and so it does not matter in the least.” He quirked a small smile at his lover as the faint crease between his brows cleared. “I honestly cannot imagine it having gone any other way.”

Greg tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in feigned suspicion. “You knew, didn’t you?”

Mycroft stammered, his eyes skittering away from Greg’s face and back toward the ring. “I...” He bit his lip and met his lover’s eyes. “I tried not to. I really _tried_ , I _swear_.”

Greg grinned, easy and carefree, shaking his head fondly as he took Mycroft’s hand and kissed it as a gallant gentleman might. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love. My devastatingly brilliant, handsome man.”

Mycroft’s knees quivered yet again. “You are a hopelessly romantic fool.”

Greg’s eyes glinted playfully. “And don’t you just love it?”

“Quite. Now...” Mycroft pulled his fiancé into a hard kiss, subtly rocking his hips against him, laughing low at the distinct twitch of interest down below. “Take me home, and let’s get our ‘private’ party started, hm?”

Grinning like a loon, Greg wound their fingers together and tugged Mycroft to the kerb, and they both threw an arm in the air to hail the nearest cab.


	2. Three Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a typical night in the Holmes-Lestrade household...

Mycroft slipped inside the townhouse, closing his eyes and wearily leaning up against the door as he tried to let go of the day. A slow smile wavered over his lips as he felt his briefcase being tugged from his fingers, all too willingly handing state secrets into Greg’s possession. He bit his lip as he opened his eyes, blinking languidly at the vision standing before him, clad only in his borrowed black silk dressing gown.

With a little smirk, Mycroft shed his outer layer and blindly attempted to hang it up behind him, not taking his eyes off his lover and completely ignoring said thousand-pound coat as it slid gracelessly to the floor. Following Greg’s beckoning finger and positively alluring backside, Mycroft loosened his tie and had his waistcoat undone before they had even reached the second floor.  

Greg stopped in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning up to brush their noses together as he breathed a soft sigh against Mycroft’s lips. “Don’t keep me waiting, love.”

“Never.” Mycroft reached between them and deftly yanked the knot on the robe’s belt free, slipping his arm around Greg’s naked waist. He pulled him tight to his body as he took his mouth, feeling a bit of his lover’s vitality spark him back into life with every quiver of his tongue.

Greg moulded himself into the curve of Mycroft’s body, running his hands over the lapels of his jacket before leaning back just a bit. With a little shake and a shimmy, the robe slid off his shoulders, pooling on the floor at his feet. With just a hint of wicked glee lighting up his eyes, he nudged his thigh between Mycroft’s legs, rocking up against him.

“I’ll mess up your beautiful suit if we keep on like this.”

Mycroft growled low, tightening his grip as Greg leant a bit more of his weight against his arm, tipping his head back and exposing his throat to him. “It can be cleaned.”

“Hm.” Greg looked at him from under his lashes. “Maybe another time. Tie you down, all neat and prim and proper in your very best, do a little striptease and touch myself for you. See if we can’t make a mess on the outside _and_ inside of those lovely trousers of yours.”

Mycroft blew out a harsh breath through his nose, showing his teeth as he bit back on his groan. “Filthy creature.”

Greg squirmed, pushing gently against Mycroft’s chest. “C’mon, love. The bath’s just been drawn - nice and hot. It would be such a shame to waste it.”

Mycroft glanced at the oddly diffuse light flickering behind his lover, quirking one eyebrow high, his nose twitching at a familiar but unexpected aroma. “What have you done?”

Greg blushed and twisted away, turning his backside on him and glancing over his shoulder. “Get naked and get in here, and you’ll find out, won’t you?”

Mycroft resisted the urge simply to chase Greg’s divine arse down, reluctantly backing away to their bedroom across the hall. He may have been slightly less conscientious about hanging his suit than usual, but of course he had other things on his mind. Feeling slightly self-conscious about his nudity even though he was safely hidden away in his own home, Mycroft quickly scooted back across the hall, clucking his tongue faintly as he bent over to retrieve the dressing gown that Greg had left crumpled on the floor.

Blushing at the pleased hum that emanated from the bath, Mycroft straightened up and nearly dropped the robe again in his astonishment. His eyes travelled over the hodge-podge of candles that festooned nearly every flat surface, each one flickering merrily. There was a small table set up at the side of the tub, bearing a full ice bucket and a bottle of champagne alongside two crystal flutes.

As Mycroft drew closer, shuffling forward almost as if in a dream, he narrowed his eyes at the small box wrapped in shiny red paper sitting innocently between the champagne flutes. “Tell me that isn’t...”

“A box of those chocolate truffles that you lust after so much that you practically get hard just sniffing them? Sorry, love, can’t do that.”

Mycroft tore his gaze away from the horrible temptation of that extremely small box, _‘what was he thinking, the horrid man, only getting me the tiniest taste, he best have more tucked away somewhere if he knows what’s good for him.'_

Greg grinned cheekily as his eyes scanned Mycroft’s face, and he found himself blushing again, knowing that his thoughts were all too evident on his normally inscrutable features, and that of course his lover would have hidden away additional treats in just about every room of the house. Had he the means, Greg would buy out the entire shop just to make his Mycroft happy.

Mycroft let the robe flutter once more to the floor as he grasped the hand that was reaching for him, holding him steady as he stepped into the bath. Settling back in the scented water, he lounged against Greg’s chest and played idly with the rose petals that dotted the surface. He shook his head and blew out a faux-exasperated breath as Greg chuckled behind him.

“ _Gregory._ What inspired all this frippery?”

“As if you don’t know. No use acting all surprised when you knew exactly what you were getting into by marrying me.”

Mycroft shivered delightfully at the softest of kisses on the nape of his neck, sliding down a little further in the water. He obligingly opened his mouth as a truffle was presented to him - with a substantial nibble taken beforehand, sneaky little bastard - and melted just as divinely as the chocolate did on his tongue.  

After a moment he accepted the glass that was being held out to him, taking in a deep breath and letting it out with a sigh. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Lestrade-Holmes.”

Greg clinked their glasses together, sliding his left hand over Mycroft’s heart, his ring glinting in the candlelight as he briefly tangled his fingers into his damp chest hair. “Happy Anniversary, Mr. Holmes-Lestrade.”

Mycroft held his breath in anticipation as his husband’s hand slid lower and lower still, wrapping around him with deft familiarity. Biting his lip to stifle his moan, he pushed into the loose ring of Greg’s fingers once before forcing himself to still. Sipping at his champagne, he spread his legs as best he could and sank into warmth and bliss, his head spinning ever so slightly.

**********

After a second glass of champagne and a third shared truffle, Mycroft simply couldn’t stand the tension any longer. He wriggled free from his husband’s tender grip, ignoring the pang of loss down below. Slithering over onto his belly and going up on his knees, he straddled Greg’s thighs and pushed his face into his neck, biting down hard without preamble.

Greg gasped and groaned as Mycroft ground down into him, fumbling to get his champagne flute set aside before it went crashing to the floor. He slid his hands down to grasp at his lover’s arse-cheeks, squeezing at them erratically. Mycroft hummed around his mouthful of flesh, sucking at it languidly, casually rutting against Greg’s burgeoning erection.

“Darling?”

“Hm? Oh, _hnghhn..._ ”

“Do you recall the last time we attempted sex in the bath?”

Greg blinked up at the ceiling as Mycroft continued to twist at his nipples. “You mean that time I had you bent over in the water fucking between your thighs and I lost my grip and slipped and landed on top of you and nearly drowned you?” He winced at the memory. “Felt like I had snapped my dick in half.”

Despite himself, a tiny chuckle escaped Mycroft’s mouth. “Quite. It’s rather a miracle that neither of us ended up in traction. So perhaps we should retire to the bedroom like any old respectable married couple?”

Greg turned his remarkably boyish grin on him, and Mycroft nearly choked on air. “As if anything that you get up to in that bed could be considered respectable, you great tart.” 

Mycroft huffed imperiously. “Sleeping is _highly_ respectable. Anything else I choose to do is covered by the Official Secrets Act and as such must remain held completely confidential. And seeing as I’m of a mind to do any number of highly questionable things for the remainder of the evening, I must insist that we move this to a more secure location.”

Greg shook his head as he rolled his eyes, reaching out to tweak Mycroft’s nose. “You are a very silly spy, but as it happens I rather agree with you, and I’ve got something else I want to pamper you with.”

Mycroft sat back on his knees as Greg pushed his way out of the water, watching with suspicion as he dried himself off. He pulled the plug as Greg reached for him, grimacing slightly as his knees creaked and the cool air hit his flushed skin. Mycroft endured a quick but thorough rubdown, sighing softly as a fresh dry towel was draped over his shoulders and he was pulled into his husband’s embrace.

“Greg...”

Greg blinked at the hesitance in Mycroft’s voice, pulling away slightly to look him in the eye. “Sweetheart?”

“This is all very lovely, but you do realise that it’s unnecessary, correct? I hardly deserve to be pampered.”

Greg frowned as he cradled Mycroft’s face in both hands. “You deserve all of it. Besides, I want to.”

“But I...” Mycroft dropped his eyes, reaching up to wrap his fingers around Greg’s wrists. He shivered slightly as Greg’s pulse fluttered under his touch. “I don’t have anything to give you in return.”

Greg lifted his face, and the smile that he bestowed on him was so soft and open and loving that Mycroft simply reeled with it. “That’s alright, love. You gave me your heart two years ago today. There’s nothing else in this world that I could possibly wish for.”

Mycroft blinked at him, utterly dumbfounded. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re even real, do you know that? There are times I’m convinced that I’m lying in a coma somewhere and I’m existing in some kind of dream world. You are...” Mycroft shook his head, going vaguely cross-eyed as Greg leant in to peck his nose. “An impossibility.”

“No, I’m not. I’m yours, and you’re mine. Let me prove to you how real this all is."

********** 

The gas fireplace in the bedroom had been a rather ostentatious design element that Mycroft had all but ignored when he had originally taken the townhouse as his residence. That is, until he had started seeing Greg and he had quickly demonstrated just how useful it could be. Even now, with it turned on just low enough that just the barest flickers of light danced over the bedding, Mycroft felt himself sinking into the warmth of the fire.

Lying on his belly, naked and exposed, he willingly handed his body over into his husband’s safekeeping, into his more than capable hands. Greg hummed low as he shifted on the bed, carefully straddling Mycroft’s waist and settling his bum down lightly. Mycroft grunted faintly and flexed his buttocks, grinning as Greg giggled atop his perch.

They sat like that for a few silent moments, until Greg trailed his fingers down the long line of Mycroft’s spine. He sighed breathily as Mycroft’s skin jumped and prickled into gooseflesh at his touch. “Gorgeous. My beautiful man.”

Mycroft cleared his throat, craning his neck to obliquely glance back at Greg’s openly adoring look. “My husband.” He stretched under the weight of Greg’s body, feeling anchored to him even though his mind was already pleasantly floaty. “My dream come true.”

“And you claim _I’m_ the romantic one.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, flickering his fingers as he gestured to the room at large, at the low lighting supplied by pillar candles, at the large and almost ridiculously elaborate bouquet of roses set on their bureau. “Greg, for goodness’ sake. The evidence of the truth of my statement is all around you.” He shivered at a gentle tug at his ear, settling back down on his pillow and wriggling into the plush towel laid out underneath him. “You are the soppiest bastard I’ve ever known. And I thank the universe for bringing you to me every damn day.”

Greg carefully laid his body down, brushing his nose along the nape of Mycroft’s neck and relishing in the small shudder that raced down his spine at his touch. “It’s only because I love you so damn much, Myc. I can’t hold it in when you’re near.”

_“Unf.”_

Greg laughed low as he reached for the bottle on the bedside table. Pushing himself back up, he trickled the contents over Mycroft’s divinely freckled back, humouring his own sense of whimsy by tracing the shape of a rather wonky heart in the shimmering oil. Carefully capping the bottle and setting it aside, he watched as Mycroft inhaled the scent of citrus and sandalwood, his shoulders dropping minutely at the soothing aroma.

Then he placed both hands on the small of his husband’s back, palms flat and fingers spread, before applying pressure with his thumbs along either side of his spine, running them firmly up the expanse of Mycroft’s back. Grinning at the drawn-out moan that was muffled into the pillows, Greg set about rubbing the remaining tension out of Mycroft’s shoulders and arms, carefully rolling his thumbs at the base of his neck, essentially reducing him to a noodly lump of a man.

Mycroft grunted and groaned with each push and pull of Greg’s hands, vocalising his appreciation in the most appallingly primal manner. But good God, the man knew exactly where he tended to hold his tension and his fingers knew exactly how to whisk it away. Although he was already feeling somewhat drowsy from the lack of rigidity in his spine, he hummed in anticipatory glee as Greg shifted atop him, reaching out to give his bum a hard squeeze as he knelt between his thighs. Mycroft tilted his hips and wiggled his behind in a clear invitation, wishing for nothing more in all the world than to feel his husband’s thick fingers working their way deep into his body.

Greg laughed again, dirty and darkly pleased - and yet, there was an undertone of teasing delight in it that made Mycroft’s hair stand up slightly. He narrowed his eyes as he pushed his torso up, casting a glance over his shoulder at Greg’s rather obvious faux-innocent expression. “What...”

Greg clucked his tongue and shook his head, trickling a bit more oil down the back of Mycroft’s right thigh. “All in good time, my love. Let me finish.”

Mycroft bit back on another groan as Greg dug into the muscle, not realising how much tension was being held in his legs as well as his back and shoulders. He laid his head back down as Greg continued to work at him, willing his erection to calm down enough so that it wasn’t poking painfully into his abdomen. _‘Your time will come, my friend.’_ Laughing internally, Mycroft once again handed himself over in the knowledge that all of his needs and wants would be tended to - in time.

Greg used a lighter touch on Mycroft’s calves, knowing that they had a propensity to cramp at the slightest provocation. Mycroft hummed his appreciation, a small shiver working its way down his spine as his foot was taken into Greg’s lap. He curled his toes into semi-hard flesh, grinning into his pillow as Greg gasped out a quiet curse and quickly drew away. He lifted the impertinent appendage and delivered a swift bite to the ball of Mycroft’s foot, holding fast as he squealed and tried to pull away.

“Behave yourself, Mr. Holmes-Lestrade.”

Mycroft huffed and whined even as Greg picked up the other foot, running his thumbs up and over the sole. “But I want you.” He threw a saucy look over his shoulder. “Need to feel you inside me.”

 _“Christ.”_ Greg’s fingers tightened around Mycroft’s ankle as he shuddered. “You’ll get that wish, sweetheart.” He tickled along Mycroft’s shin. “But not till I’m ready to give it to you.”

“You are a horrid man. I can’t even imagine what madness inspired me to accept your rather silly proposal in the first place.”

Greg snorted at his husband’s supercilious tone. “It was my cock, of course. Releases a mind-altering substance that gets absorbed into your bloodstream.” He gamely held onto Mycroft’s thigh as it jerked in his grip, digging his fingers in hard. “I made you mine the first time I fucked you properly, when I came nice and deep. All mine.”

He showed his teeth as Mycroft shuddered hard, barely able to draw breath for a long moment. “You.” Mycroft shook his head as if to clear it. “Are the filthiest human being I have ever known.”

Greg smacked his arse. “And you love it.”

“God help me.”

They both devolved into light giggles, but Mycroft’s cheeks were blazing red with embarrassment, excitement, anticipation, any number of emotions that he usually tried to keep inside. Greg leant over and nuzzled behind his ear, murmuring low nonsense until Mycroft’s breathing had evened out a bit.

“Budge up for a second, love.”

Frowning, Mycroft shifted onto his knees, rocking back and forth as his oil-slicked skin slid against itself. He bit his lip as Greg slipped off the bed, reaching underneath and drawing out a very particular pillow. Mycroft squirmed a bit more vigorously as Greg got it situated under the towel, raising his eyebrow at the rather considerable damp spot that had been left behind by one sadly neglected cock.

Mycroft huffed and gestured to his husband’s similarly affected appendage, which perked up slightly under his scrutiny. “I do presume that you will actually be putting that to use at some point in the evening?”

Greg snorted and patted the pillow. “Never you mind about that at the moment.”

Mycroft whined, but quickly settled back down over the dense wedge-shaped pillow, spreading his legs invitingly wide as the prop took some of the brunt off his knees and lower back. He jumped as there was another light smack on his arse, hiding his smirk in his crossed arms.

He had scoffed at the mere suggestion of ‘sex furniture’, but had quickly realised its benefits as soon as it was put to its purpose. Since Greg hadn’t been as concerned with the possibility of his partner’s knees giving out on him in the middle of the act, he’d been a little more - well, _enthusiastic_ that night and it still remained one of Mycroft’s favourite rogerings to date.

He had a feeling that tonight may very well top even that hallowed occasion, if Greg would ever bloody well stop faffing about, of course. Mycroft let out a soft hiss of surprise as a hand slipped between his thighs, gently drawing his cock away from the comforting warmth of his body. Greg hummed appreciatively as Mycroft spread his legs even further, tilting his hips back so that he was held completely exposed. He supposed that he should feel some sense of shame for displaying himself so wantonly, but how could he when he did it purely for his husband’s benefit?

Mycroft shivered as Greg growled low behind him, his broad hands spread over both arse-cheeks, squeezing tight and spreading him even further. “Good goddamn, but you are _gorgeous_ like this - all laid out for me like a fucking banquet.”

Mycroft’s eyes fluttered as his spine contracted again, his cock throbbing ineffectively against the pillow as it dribbled out another hefty stream of pre-come. “Gre- _guh!_ ” He pressed his forehead hard into the mattress and shouted again as Greg shoved his face deeper in between his cheeks, completely bypassing his usual repertoire of gentle licks and teasing nibbles by simply thrusting his tongue into Mycroft’s hole as far as it would go.

Mycroft pushed back into him, already panting with the effort of staving off his orgasm, grinding relentlessly into Greg’s face. He reached behind with one hand and grasped at his husband’s thick silver hair, unsure whether he was going to draw him in closer or pull him off. The latter impulse won out at the last moment, and Greg chuckled throatily as he tugged his head out of Mycroft’s trembling grasp.

“Problem, sweetheart?”

“You... I...” Greg waited patiently as Mycroft recovered his senses, or at least the ability to speak clearly. " _Hff_ , Christ - you are not to make me come until I have been fucked very thoroughly, do you understand?”

Greg growled as he sank his teeth into Mycroft’s left cheek, biting hard and sucking harder. “You want to come on my cock, is that it?” Mycroft snarled in his turn, trying to spread himself even wider as Greg held him pinned in place. His hips moved in short hard jerks, seemingly beyond his own control. They shuddered to a stop as Greg laughed softly in his ear, one finger probing tenderly at his rim. “You’re not ready yet. You can hold on just a bit longer, can’t you?”

“I swear to God you are going to drive me stark raving mad, you utter bastard!” Mycroft flailed his arm in the direction of the bedside table, snatching up the bottle of oil and nearly smacking Greg in the face with it. “Get on with it or I shall call in a very personal favour and have you beheaded.”

Greg winced. “Ooh, harsh, love. Very, very harsh.” He obligingly trickled a bit more oil over the target, rubbing it around in small, slow circles. “And also completely ludicrous.” Greg ground up against Mycroft’s thigh, a tiny groan escaping from his throat. “Whack off the big head and there’ll be no more little head, and we both know that you couldn’t live without that.”

Mycroft shook his head in despair, going limp as his husband’s dexterous fingers rubbed over his perineum and flirted with his hole, light teasing touches that were truly only moments away from sending him absolutely spare. Taking in a deep breath from his nose and letting it out slowly, he prepared himself to bring out his greatest weapon. “Greg...” Mycroft put a little more wibble in his chin as he widened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder.

Greg froze in place, looking rather like a deer in headlights as he shook his head. “Oh no. No no no you don’t - don’t you dare!”

Mycroft blinked rapidly, his eyes going misty as he stuck out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “Darling... It hurts.” He cheered mentally as one tear started to trickle down his cheek. “Make it stop hurting, Greg. Make it better - _please_ , my love.”

“Damn you.” Mycroft let out a happy little mewl as one finger slid in neatly, dipping his spine as Greg crouched down low over him, pushing in deeper. “Manipulative little shit.”

Mycroft nodded happily, grinding back and forth, stretching his arms out in front of him to push against the headboard. “Any means necessary, my sweet. And you’ll give me another unless you want to see real tears.”

“Fucker.” The second went in just as smoothly, and Greg worked them deeply into Mycroft’s body, his rhythm slow and even. He hummed appreciatively in Mycroft’s ear, nibbling at the edge and sucking the lobe into his mouth. “So receptive. You just open right up, don’t you?”

Mycroft gasped, his head spinning slightly. “Only ever for you.”

“Flatterer.”

“ _H_ _ngh_ , oh.” Mycroft shook his head curtly. “Truth. You’re the only one who has e-ever made me feel this way.”

Greg snorted, his breath ruffling Mycroft’s hair. “Like an irredeemable slut?”

Mycroft writhed under his husband’s careful attentions as he hissed out a low exclamation. “ _Your_ slut, yes, oh fucking hell yes. More, more - give me more I want you to stuff me full. Please, love. _Please_ fuck me.”

Although Greg’s breath stuttered out of his chest with a moan that lingered in the air, the steady push and pull of his fingers didn’t alter one bit. Mycroft pondered as he squirmed, somehow understanding that any other demands would be disregarded. Greg was clearly determined to carry through with the plan in his head and would not easily be swayed from his purpose, no matter what dastardly means Mycroft might employ. He very often admired his husband’s tenacity, but this particular situation was rapidly becoming entirely untenable.

Greg’s fingers brushed against Mycroft’s prostate, gentle but deliberate, and the sudden zing of sensation made him suck in a sharp breath as his cock jerked in shock. Right. It was clearly past time to take control of the situation.

Mycroft whimpered and whined, breathing out his lover’s name in the barest whisper, hoping to draw him closer. When Greg bent down lower, crooking his ear close to Mycroft’s mouth, he reached up and behind, grabbing hold of his neck. Hooking his ankles over Greg’s calves, Mycroft twisted his body up and over, and the both of them landed on the mattress with undignified grunts.

But at least Greg was flat on his back with his arms upraised, his expression one of dazed surprise. Mycroft took advantage of the moment, slithering up onto his knees and throwing a leg over Greg’s waist, straddling him. He bared his teeth in triumph as he reached behind, grabbing hold of his husband’s hard cock and giving it a firm squeeze as he wriggled into position above it.

“Mine.” He started to slide down, ignoring Greg’s weakly sputtered protests.

“Love, don’t hurt yourself, oh _hnghhh..._ ”

Mycroft shivered with delight as Greg’s cock breached him, bearing down hard to take him all in one pass. There was a bit of a burn, yes, a slight pulling in his muscles as his body stretched to accommodate the overdue if welcome intrusion. Thick and hard, oh God, and veiny in all the right places, oh yes, _yes,_  it truly was a divine instrument. There may have been a kernel of truth behind Greg’s joke a bit earlier in the evening - perhaps Mycroft had married him purely because he had become addicted to the man’s cock.

Mycroft bit his lip as he looked down at his husband’s beautiful face, alight with love and adoration, his eyes tight at the edges with a hint of concern. No, pure animal magnetism wasn’t the only factor - he had become addicted to every facet of this man. His caring nature, his fierce protectiveness and unwavering loyalty, his ardent passion...

Greg ran his hands up Mycroft’s thighs, pressing his thumbs into the tendons of his groin. “Alright there?”

Mycroft sighed, rocking gently on his perch. “Better than.” He tried on a halfhearted glare. “Finally.”

Greg smirked as he braced his legs, pushing up hard and deep. “Wanted to go slow - sensual. Should’ve known that you’d lose control before too long.” He chuckled gently as Mycroft’s eyes widened in outrage. “I guess I’ll have to put those restraints to use next time.”

Mycroft shuddered as he lifted himself up and slid back down, grinding his hips in a slow circle. “You’ll need to catch me first.” He huffed as Greg rolled his eyes as if to say, _‘Like you’d really run from me.’_ Mycroft shrugged as he conceded this small truth, clenching down hard as he moved just to watch Greg’s eyes roll back in his head. The next few strokes were entirely for himself, shifting here and there, whittling down his awareness to the connection between them, feeling every throb of his husband’s heart deep in his centre.

“Mm _fuck_.” Mycroft opened his eyes slowly, shivering at the look of rapt hunger on Greg’s face. “You look fucking gorgeous up there - your _face_ , Christ.” Mycroft’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, but he couldn’t help preening just a bit, arching his neck just so as he lifted himself up higher on his knees and pushed himself back down hard. " _Hngh!_ Some - oh fucking hell - sometimes I wish we had a video camera...”

Mycroft lifted one eyebrow as he stilled momentarily. “Dare I even ask why?”

Greg reached out and grasped Mycroft’s cock, pushing up into his body as he gave him a healthy squeeze. Mycroft gasped out a groan, starting to move again almost immediately, leaning back slightly, seeking that particular spot. Greg tilted his hips up to assist as he hung on, avidly leering at his husband’s cock as it slid slickly through his fist. “So I can watch your face, watch your cock as you ride me. And then after you come all over me, I can rewind the footage and watch your pert arse swallowing up my cock like the greedy little beast it is.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened, the hectic flush in his cheeks starting to spread downward, blending into the dusting of freckles on his neck and chest. He grasped hold of Greg’s wrist, keeping his hand in place as he moved with renewed intensity. Greg encouraged him with teasing flashes of his tongue, flickering his gaze between Mycroft’s face and his cock.

Greg showed his teeth as he felt the hard member in his grip swell slightly, throbbing hard. “That’s right, baby... Mark me up, make a mess outta me.”

Mycroft was able to spit out something that sounded vaguely affirmative, but the words were too garbled to make any sense. Greg found himself holding his breath as he continued to thrust upwards, feeling Mycroft’s fingers tightening around his pulse point. Most times he could judge just how intense his husband’s orgasm had been by how long it took for the feeling to return to his fingers afterwards. His fingertips were already starting to tingle - this was definitely going to be a good one.

The trembling began in Mycroft’s thighs, rolling tremors that swiftly met at the juncture of his groin. His cock jerked hard twice before his bollocks pulled up tight, and then his whole body was convulsing as though shot through with electricity. Greg’s chest filled with warmth as he watched his lover ride the waves of his bliss, his beautiful face infused with ecstasy as he tipped it to the ceiling, his mouth opening on a warbling cry of heady pleasure.

A different kind of warmth splashed profusely over Greg’s belly as he slowly let the tension in his legs go, sinking back into the mattress. Mycroft followed him down, still clenching and squirming, eking out every last aftershock until he seemed to be completely spent. Mycroft panted heavily, his fingers crackling slightly as he uncurled them from around Greg’s wrist. He smiled apologetically as Greg shook out his hand with a little grimace, reaching out to swirl random patterns in the considerable puddle that he had left behind.

Greg was content enough to lie there for the moment, idly petting Mycroft’s sweaty thighs and watching with well-deserved pride as his husband recovered himself sufficiently. He was amused to note that Mycroft was repeatedly tracing the shape of their combined initials in his come, like some lovesick teenager. He didn’t even think Mycroft was entirely aware that he was doing it.

Greg bit his lip as his cock twitched, its interest waning slightly as they sat together in silence. Mycroft startled slightly back into awareness, a bit of cunning lighting up in his eyes as his jaw set with determination. Greg groaned quietly as he dismounted, looking at him with some confusion as Mycroft swept up as much of his come as he could, holding it in one cupped hand.

“Love, what-”

His voice died away with a startled moan as Mycroft settled back down over the pillow, his thighs spread wide to show off his nicely-fucked hole. He glanced over his shoulder as Greg scrambled to his knees, eagerly shuffling to kneel behind him. With one hand holding himself open, he shoved his soiled fingers into his body, shuddering hard as he pushed them in as deep as they would go.

“Take me.”

Greg shook his head slowly, not in denial, but disbelief. His eyes didn’t waver from the dirty show that Mycroft was putting on for him, his cock once again fully hard, straining toward its objective. “Sweet baby Jesus, how is it that you get even sluttier _after_ you’ve come?”

Mycroft licked his lips, a small moan breaking through as his middle finger barely brushed over his sensitised prostate. “As you said - my arse is greedy for you. It’s hungry, Greg.” Heat flared in his chest as his lover’s eyes darkened even further. Mycroft slid his hand mostly free, tugging at the rim of his arsehole with the tips of his fingers. “Feed it.”

_“Christ.”_

Mycroft hissed in triumph as he felt his husband’s thick cock slide into him once again, slamming home with a grunt. He pushed back into him as Greg moved, thrusting sure and deep. He mewled and moaned as his arse was worked hard, knowing that the sounds he made only fuelled Greg’s passion. He did so many things in their life together to show Mycroft just how much he was loved, was cherished and adored, but this - oh, sweet God, _this_.

Knowing that only he could drive this gentle man to such a frenzy of unbridled lust gave Mycroft more pleasure than a thousand paltry orgasms. And so it was as much for his benefit as it was for Greg’s when he let those frankly animalistic noises slip from his tongue as he wriggled and writhed, enticing his lover to hold him pinned down to the mattress, to fuck him even harder.

Mycroft whimpered as Greg’s steady pounding altered slightly, becoming something a little less focused, more erratic. “Please, Greg. Oh God, please... Give it to me, come deep, please please _please_.” He managed to throw one last saucy look over his shoulder, looking into darkly feral eyes, blushing brightly. “Come for me - I need my fix.”

Greg snorted out a strangled laugh even as his hips locked, dropping his head and sinking his teeth into Mycroft’s shoulder. He let out a wispy shout of surprise, somehow still aware of Greg’s cock twitching and jerking inside him even through the sharp shock of pain, feeling that deliciously hot flood within that delivered such an unseemly sense of pride.

Greg grunted low as he ground deep into Mycroft’s body, shuddering out his orgasm, revelling in the feel of slick, hot muscle surrounding him, squeezing out every last drop. He nuzzled at Mycroft’s abused freckles, kissing away the lingering sting, murmuring quiet apologies into the slight indentations left behind by his teeth. Mycroft sluggishly shook his head, negating the necessity without saying a word. He laid limply underneath his husband’s comforting weight, the euphoria in his chest spreading out through his limbs and making them leaden.

He was already starting to drift away when Greg shifted atop him, and Mycroft mumbled dissenting noises as he withdrew. His grumbling switched to low hums of pleasure as his lover probed gently at his well-used hole, swiping up the come dribbling down Mycroft’s bollocks and shoving it back where it belonged. Mycroft giggled as Greg amused himself for a while, hissing sharply when his fingers travelled just a little too close to very tender territory.

“ _Mmm_ \- dirty filthy man.”

Mycroft sighed, his throat dry and head muzzy. “Your fault.”

Greg smacked his arse lightly. “And proud of it. C’mon, love. You need a shower.”

“Nooo...” Mycroft burrowed deeper into the pillow. “Tomorrow.”

Greg laughed quietly, deciding not to argue with him even though he knew he would win, seeing as how it already was ‘tomorrow’, if he were to be technical about it. He slipped off the bed, leaving his very thoroughly despoiled spouse to wallow in his depravity for just a few moments more.

Mycroft turned his head, blinking languorously at Greg’s bare behind as he sauntered across the hall to the toilet. He blearily studied the bouquet of roses on the bureau, the velvety red of them so deep that they almost looked black in the flickering candlelight. Mycroft took in a deep breath and let it out on a content sigh as Greg walked back into the room, laden with a number of damp flannels.

Mycroft snorted with amusement. “Surely it isn’t quite that bad.”

Greg leant over to kiss his shoulder as he started to scrub at the sticky patches. “Don’t want you to chafe, love.”

“So good to me.” Mycroft endured his husband’s caring attentions, biting his lip as the cloth scraped over sensitive tissue. He grumbled again as he was encouraged to turn over, but Greg made up for it by nuzzling gently at his spent cock. He hummed as he ran his nose through sticky curls, breathing Mycroft in deep. As blissed out as he was, he could barely lift a hand to thread through Greg’s hair, tugging gently in silent admonishment.

Greg conceded with a parting flicker of tongue, his eyes gleaming as he finished his ablutions and slipped away again. _‘A dream,’_ Mycroft mused. _‘I will wake to find that the whole thing was just some impossible dream.’_

But then his dream was climbing back into bed with him, pulling him close under the covers, drawing him into the curve of his body. Mycroft snuggled into Greg’s strong neck, listening to the steady beat of his heart, smirking softly as one broad hand clasped his arse rather possessively. He shivered as Greg’s fingers tickled at his cleft, hitching his leg a little higher to grant easier access.

Greg chuckled softly. “What is it, love?”

“Hm?”

“You’re thinking. I can feel it.”

Mycroft bit his lip. “Yes. I was actually thinking that I’d like to recreate the entire scene tomorrow.”

Greg hummed with intrigue, his fingers sliding just a bit further infield. “Bath? With the truffles and all?”

“Absolutely vital.”

“Hm. Massage? Teasing included?”

Mycroft sighed imperiously, rolling his eyes to emphasise even though he knew Greg couldn’t see the gesture. “What would be the point otherwise?” He paused as he plucked gently at Greg’s chest hair. “There is only one aspect that will need to be - switched, as it were.”

“Ah.” Greg giggled in Mycroft’s ear, brushing his lips over his jaw. “Promise you’ll be gentle with me, love.”

“ _Hmph_. Not a chance in hell.”

Greg hummed into Mycroft’s mouth, kissing him deeply and yet still sweetly, tracing seemingly random patterns on his skin with the lightest of touches. It should have driven him mad, but it instead led him into slumber, his eyes growing so heavy that he had no choice but to close them.

Greg continued to hum until he was sure that Mycroft had finally succumbed, a simple tune that they both knew very well indeed.

 _Together forever and never to part_  
_Together forever we two_  
_And don't you know_  
_I would move heaven and earth_  
_To be together forever with you_

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd or brit-picked. Characters not mine, but the situation definitely is!
> 
> If you'd like to get notifications from tumblr, I'm at 'bitemebat.tumblr.com'. Come follow me, and you'll get pretty boys and soft kitties on your dash!


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